The Shadow
by Talquar
Summary: Third Age 2957. The Dunedain decide their course against Sauron while the Elves resist the Nazgul at Dol Guldur. Yet the shadow is stronger than Men or Elves are aware, and their struggle suddenly becomes a matter of survival.
1. En Route

__

The year is 2957 of the Third Age. Sauron rebuilds the fortress of Barad-dur, while three Nazgul have returned to Dol Guldur in secret. The sons of Elrond travel to Mirkwood, where evil grows ever stronger, to offer aid from Imladris to the Woodland King. Meanwhile, after leaving Rivendell six years before, Aragorn travels the Misty Mountains with a small band of Rangers led by the chieftain of the Dunedain. The company now assembles with the rest of the Dunedain to hold council and decide their course against the shadow in the East.

*

The thick darkness of the undergrowth forced him to flee blindly through unknown hollows and copses, flailing to grasp at low branches when his feet caught in the tangled nightshade. His companion shoved against him from behind as he struggled free of the clinging shrubbery and they fell forward together to the hard ground. He tasted blood on his lips and scrambled to his feet, his desperate wheezes echoing in his ears and his heart thundering in his chest.

Dimly he heard a savage cry, a ring of metal and a scream cut short; his companion had risen too slowly from his fall. Yet he could not hope that they would abandon the pursuit, for he knew that they would not be satisfied with one victim. While any of his wretched kind remained alive, they would not be satisfied.

The sharp shadows cast by the nightshade and the trees overhead showed faintly in the silvery light that drew nearer as his injured leg trembled underneath him and his mad flight slowed without his consent. The light shone brighter and he stumbled forward with a frantic half-gasp, half-moan. His eyes flickered from side to side, searching for just a little hole in the ground, a space under a rock, anywhere they could not follow 

A blur of silver light dropped from the branches above and landed silently before him. The flashing blade that swung up to meet him shone painfully clear, and then was gone.

Elladan lifted his gaze from the dead orc that lay sprawled in the nightshade. He tugged a bloody rag from his belt and wiped his blade clean.

"The shadow has spread since we last hunted in Mirkwood," he remarked. He stepped easily over the small body and began to walk back to the Forest Path where they had left their horses.

Elrohir sheathed his knife and fell into step beside his brother. "They were only two, and they fled."

"Yet I have not heard of orcs so bold as to cross the Road," Elladan said. "Nor has Thranduil written to us that they have advanced so far north."

"Mayhap he does not know. These may be the first to venture so near his realm."

"Mayhap they are the first," Elladan said. He slid his blade into the scabbard and sprang lightly onto his mare. The sons of Elrond began again to ride slowly along the dark road. "But they are not the last."

The elves then fell silent, listening to the strange murmurs of the forest and watching the small slivers of the eastern sky that were visible from the path. Elrohir felt the suffocating tension of the forest ease slightly as the first light showed above the horizon. The bulbous glow of the eyes that watched them from beside the road began to dim and go out. Yet he still knew the presence of evil, drew it in with every breath and felt its pressure like an ironclad hand closing about him.

"The shadow has spread," Elladan said quietly.

Elrohir watched the edges of the leaves shine bright orange and pink with the sunrise. He turned to his brother. "Think you that Thranduil will accept our aid?"

Elladan had considered that question throughout the night, but he still did not answer for a long moment.

"He may," Elladan said finally. "The King is proud, but _Ada_ believes that his thought dwells ever on the safety of his realm and people. Yet his answer may also be decided by the manner of our offer. Thranduil places a high value upon his independence – perhaps too high. We must work to avoid the impression that we offer charity."

Elrohir smiled slightly. "That is unfortunate – we are hardly renowned for our tact, _muindor-nin_," he said. "Perhaps _Ada_ should have sent Estel as his emissary."

__

Elladan threw back his head and laughed, and a black squirrel which had been staring at them from the roadside leapt startled into a tree. "If Estel ever became our emissary to Thranduil, I would go along as his escort. I would be a fool to miss the King's face when he saw that scruffy man-child as the chief ambassador of Imladris!"

"Elrohir!"

The sharp voice snatched Elrohir from his daydream to find his brother staring at him with an unreadable expression.

"I said that Aragorn is not yet prepared for the dangers of Mirkwood," Elladan repeated. "Yet you did not hear me. Where has your thought strayed?"

Elrohir could not say whether his brother spoke in anger or concern, and did not know how to answer. After a moment, Elladan spurred his horse slightly ahead.

*

The journey had been long. No pain or fatigue was revealed by the long strides of the Dunedain as they walked their narrow path, but many had been wounded and all were weary.

The Misty Mountains had been perilous for longer than any of the Dunedain could remember, but the dangers of this last journey had been far greater than they had anticipated. Aragorn could see in the faces of the company the grim tale of nights spent in battle and days in long marches over treacherous mountains. The Dunedain endured danger and deprivation well, but during the worst of this journey Aragorn had felt that only the will of the chieftain Merenglas had kept the company alive.

The Dunedain went in single file along the mountainside, a cliff rising on one side and falling away on the other. Merenglas led and Aragorn went directly behind, followed by less experienced Rangers in the center and grim Thalion as rearguard. Aragorn watched ever for a sign of their destination, seeing easily over the head of the leader, but there was only the same steeply sloping path that they had followed since their journey began.

"Impatient child," Merenglas said, easily perceiving the thought of his youngest warrior. "Surely a short walk in the afternoon does not try your patience so unbearably?"

The chieftain still faced ahead, but Aragorn dared not roll his eyes. When the younger Dunedain debated – quietly, once their leader had been proven asleep – whether Merenglas could actually _see_ out of the back of his head or was merely very perceptive, Aragorn argued invariably for the former opinion. No orc encampment, goblin ambush or childish prank escaped unseen under the watch of the old Ranger.

"I shall restrain myself until the end of our journey," Aragorn said somberly. "Fear me not."

"Stubborn boy," Merenglas muttered. "Since you will not ask, I will tell you – we are less than a league from camp. We shall be there long before sunset."

Aragorn fell silent. He had seen no sign of a camp – and even a stealthy band of Rangers should not escape his notice. He scanned the landscape again for smoke or human movement, but there was none.

"Have you not found them yet?" Merenglas said in mock astonishment. "By Elbereth – a company of forty men has managed to hide from our elfling."

"No, I see them not," Aragorn murmured. "Yet we are so near. How do they conceal their camp?"

The question was answered when Merenglas turned a sharp corner of the cliff – and disappeared.

In the side of the mountain there was a crack, just wide enough for a large man. Aragorn could see the dim outline of Merenglas ahead as he entered the tunnel in wonder. Did the Dunedain hide now in caves, as orcs or goblins did? Or – was that faint light ahead, making the man ahead stand out in sharp relief?

The air in the tunnel was unusually fresh, not dank and rotten like the caverns he had explored before, where fell creatures hid and devoured prey. Aragorn reached out to touch the jagged wall – the tunnel had grown wider – and felt dry rock beneath his fingers. No slime, no moss.

The light grew brighter, filling the tunnel, and Aragorn could suddenly see Merenglas as though he stood in the full sun on the plains. He blinked as the tunnel widened, and suddenly found himself walking into a valley in the middle of the mountain.

Grey tents were pitched haphazardly on the deep grass of the hollow mountaintop, and a line of cooking-fires burned cheerfully before them. Dunedain sat repairing their gear or talking in small clusters outside the tents. A few were walking restlessly about, but stopped when they caught sight of the small company.

"My lord!"

A rawboned youth with wild dark hair leapt up from the rock where he had been sharpening his blade. He shoved the machete into his belt and darted forward to bow hastily before Merenglas. As he straightened again – standing well over the head of the chieftain, for he was nearly as tall as Aragorn – he flashed a wide grin of bright white teeth, startling against his sun-bronzed skin.

"Memorable journey, eh?" he asked, glancing at the haggard faces of the small band. "Never fear – we have alcohol. That is, _athelas_," he corrected quickly. "We have _athelas_."

"I would not refuse either, Halbarad," Merenglas said grimly. "Yet some of us are badly wounded. Where is the healer's tent?"

The youth indicated a large tent some distance away, instantly serious. "We are well supplied, but Gilion is the only skilled healer in camp," he said. "Shall I find someone to help him?"

"Nay, he will do," Merenglas answered. "Thalion, take the injured to Gilion. Lend him whatever aid you can, but if any wound is beyond his skill, send for Strider here." He clapped Aragorn on the back. "He will be in council with us in the captains' tent."

The confusion on Halbarad's face was surpassed only by that in Aragorn's mind. He was not a ranking warrior – he had only traveled with the Rangers for six years – why should he attend a council of the captains? The warrior who had slain more goblins and Wargs than most Rangers ever saw felt a slick of hot panic through his gut. What would he do at a council? Would he have to _know_ things?

Yet when Merenglas laid a firm hand on his shoulder and half-led, half-dragged him away from the company and toward the captains' tent, Aragorn asked none of these questions.

"Strider'?" he repeated dazedly.

Merenglas chuckled. "Can't let the whole camp hear your right name just yet, Heir of Isildur," he said quietly. He glanced up at Aragorn, and there was a malicious glint in his sharp grey eyes. "Besides, it suits you – tramping along at a great pace with those long legs of yours, all tall and skinny, towering over normal folk like an Ent "

Halbarad, who had followed behind Merenglas and Aragorn, halted and stood still. _Heir of Isildur_

*

Disclaimer: All characters, creatures and places borrowed from _The Hobbit_, _The Lord of the Rings_ and _The Silmarillion_ belong to J. R. R. Tolkien. Any property of mine that you might gain from a lawsuit would not be worth the lawyer's fee, so don't bother.

A/N: I've thrown you into the midst of two storylines with no preparation. Why? Because preparation is boring and I like to confuse you. However, the plot from now on is very straightforward and the two storylines will converge. Thus setting the world firmly in order again. If you want to know, this is primarily an Aragorn story, with Legolas, Halbarad, Elladan and Elrohir as secondary characters. No romance, no slash, limited original characters, no running with scissors but lots of arrow-shooting and sword-slashing, with a good brawl or two for variety. Enjoy!


	2. The Council

The night had come quickly to the mountain hollow where the Dunedain held council. The inky blackness was broken by the moon, bright and full, and by the stars shining clearly in the cloudless sky. Through the thick fabric of the captains' tent, Aragorn could just see the faint light of Eärendil far above. It must be unusually bright to pierce the tough woven cloth.

A lean and weathered Ranger ducked into the tent and took his place with a grim nod to Merenglas. The captains of the Dunedain sat on low, short benches in a half-circle about the broad tent floor. Merenglas had commanded Aragorn to stay at his right hand. If the Dunedain were confused by the unusual honor given to this strange, fidgeting youth, they did not reveal it.

The entry of the last Ranger completed the small council. Eleven Dunedain sat now in the tent - Merenglas, Thalion, the youth Halbarad and several Rangers that Aragorn did not know. Yet he recognized the subtle emblems of rank and identity they wore, and gleaned from these that they were the four captains, of North, East, South and West, each with his second on his right. Merenglas, with Aragorn and old Thalion on either side, held the place of honor.

"The shadow has spread," Merenglas said starkly. If the silence of the Dunedain could become still deeper and graver, it did so now.

"We have wandered long in the Wild," he continued, "and ever we have seen evil grow stronger and reach further. Yet it has never declared itself so boldly as it has in the last six years. I have learned from the White Council that this is no anomaly. The shadow spreads in the Third Age because the evil which cast it in the Second has returned. Sauron has declared himself in Mordor."

A murmur of surprise and fear ran quickly about the tent. Merenglas raised his hand for silence. "We will speak of this anon," he said, "for that is the business of this council. Yet not all of you are known to each other. The captains of the Dunedain shall identify themselves and give a brief history of their travels since we last met."

Thalion spoke first, as though it was accepted custom that he would. "I am Thalion, second of the chieftain Merenglas and head instructor of novices. For the past seven years our company has wandered the Misty Mountains. Our intent was to train several young Dunedain while seeking news of orc and goblin activity in the Mountains, for we had heard that they had multiplied. We found more in the Mountains than news.

"For seven years we have traveled in constant danger of attack. Our company moved only during the day, for the creatures of Sauron do not yet dare to venture into the sunlight, but by nightfall we were forced to find either a well-concealed shelter or a place to make a stand in battle. After the first year of our travels we went to the house of Elrond, for we had many wounded. We received healing there and better weapons, as well as a new member of our company." Here Thalion paused and glanced at Merenglas, but the chieftain's face told him not to elaborate.

"Our departure from Rivendell was followed by six years of travel in the Mountains. We discovered many caverns of foul creatures - orcs, goblins, Wargs, and some we had not seen before. We killed all that did not flee, but their number never seemed to diminish, and each year grew harsher than the last. We were relieved when the time came for the Assembly of the Dunedain, for we felt that we could no longer endure a journey exposed in the Mountains. Many of our company now lies in the healer's tent. They will recover, but I know not how we all survived. Sauron has grown strong indeed, and his reach extends far into the West."

Aragorn glanced about the tent. The leaders of the Dunedain seemed grim but not surprised. He suspected that their own companies had experienced similar hardships since the last Assembly seven years before.

The Ranger beside Thalion, whose age was difficult to tell, was the next to speak. "I am Ladren, captain of the North. My second is Gaeras. Our task was to explore Forodwaith, Angmar, the Ered Mithrin and the lower part of the Northern Waste."

The captain's tale confirmed the awakening of fell creatures throughout the North. Ladren told that while orcs and goblins were not so plentiful there as in the Misty Mountains, older and more dangerous beasts hunted in the North, as well as some that were not beasts. The company had lost four men in the ancient Witch-realm of Angmar, which had long been feared, but never become dangerous since its last defeat.

The mood of the council became graver still when Nelran, captain of the West, told of his company's travels. While Eriador was perhaps the most peaceful region of Midde Earth except Lothlorien, strange happenings there showed that evil stirred even in the western lands. The folk of the West remained secure under the careful watch of the Rangers, but Nelran did not know if his company could protect them if the creatures of the Misty Mountains migrated into Eriador.

Here Halbarad shifted as though he would speak, but when he noticed Aragorn's eyes upon him he sat still, glaring at the novice with open hostility. Startled by his marked ill will, Aragorn held his gaze for a moment, but quickly shifted his attention to the southern captain Mirlos when he began his tale.

The South company had explored the shoreline of the Bay of Belfalas, from Gondor along the west side of Haradwaith and Umbar. They had not been attacked, but they had noticed convoys large and small travelling between Umbar and Harad, and more ominously, to the north. Mirlos feared that Sauron was building an alliance with the people of the south, but he had found no proof.

Halbarad was the last to speak. "In the last seven years, the Rangers of the East have traveled though Ered Lithui and the Iron Hills, into Mirkwood and to the shores of the Sea of Rhun. The discovery of the White Council is no tidings to us, for it became ever clearer throughout our journey that Sauron had returned to Mordor. I shall not tell all of what we saw, for it is a long tale, and I am not certain that the entire council should know of it." He paused, and for an instant Aragorn thought that Halbarad glanced at him.

"The loyalty of no part of this council is in doubt, Halbarad," Merenglas said firmly. "Yet I still would not have you give the whole account, for there is something more urgent in your mind."

"My lord, you see rightly," Halbarad answered, somewhat contritely - yet Aragorn heard in his voice a hint of defiance. "We were plagued as all companies were, by orcs, goblins and strange creatures that we never saw clearly, attacking and vanishing in the night without warning. Yet in the third year of our travels their onslaught lessened, though we were then at the very borders of Mordor. We saw many creatures of Sauron, but they did not pursue us - they seemed to vanish between the Ered Lithui and the south of Mirkwood.

"Nay," Halbarad answered the unspoken question, "they did not go to Dol Guldur. The southern border of Mirkwood was watched continually, and we saw no sign of them. Neither have the Woodland Elves discovered any intrusion into their realm from outside, although the evil within it grows perpetually stronger.

"Our company tracked them from the northwest of Mordor across the Emyn Muil and into the Brown Lands. Yet we found them not, for as we approached the Great River we came under attack from a band of goblins - not by the host we were following, for our quarry were orcs of Mordor, and these were mountain goblins. They drove us ever toward the East, assaulting our company both in open combat and cunning ambushes. We killed many, but the slain seemed to be replaced almost at once. Only a year ago were we able to escape their pursuit, traveling through Mirkwood toward the Misty Mountains. Of the host we had been tracking from Mordor there was no sign."

"The goblins were sent to force you away from the trail of the orcs," Thalion said grimly. "The two races work for one purpose - they serve one master." 

The Dunedain were silent for a long moment. Aragorn noticed Halbarad restlessly fingering the haft of his machete, while Mirlos had unconsciously clenched his hand into a fist. Merenglas stared directly ahead, his face stern.

"How many?" the chieftain asked finally.

Halbarad glanced up from his blade. "My lord?"

"The orcs you tracked from Mordor," Merenglas said. "How large was the host?"

The captain hesitated. When he spoke his voice was low, as though he was ashamed. "Two thousand, my lord."

"Two thousand orcs do not disappear into the grass," Merenglas said quietly. "Yet we have not discovered them, and we watch all roads. If the Dunedain have seen and heard naught of them, the orcs have traveled neither West, East, North or South."

"Nor have they been killed," Mirlos said. "We would have heard if Gondor or Rohan had fought the orcs of Mordor, and there is no natural disaster that can extinguish such a force and leave no sign."

"The Caverns of Nuruhuine," Aragorn said suddenly. "They may hide in the Caverns of Nuruhuine."

The Dunedain all turned to the youth in surprise, for most had forgotten him. Aragorn himself was mildly astonished that he had spoken. Yet he did not doubt his judgement.

"Nuruhuine?" Merenglas questioned closely. "I have not heard of it."

"It is unknown to Men," Aragorn said, "for Elves alone have journeyed there, and then only a few."

"If these Caverns are unknown to Men, and Strider is a man, how does he know of them?" asked Halbarad, making little effort to hide his derision. A few of the Dunedain seemed by their faces to share his suspicion.

"The sons of Elrond Peredhil discovered Nuruhuine eight years ago," Aragorn answered. "They have told me of underground tunnels and caves, tortuous and unbounded, where orcs hide from their foes until they have abandoned the hunt. Elladan and Elrohir discovered only three small accesses to the caverns, along the east bank of the Anduin, but these entrances are far apart. If this host has hidden in Nuruhuine, it could come forth to attack any land from North Mirkwood to Gondor, without warning, at its most vulnerable moment."

As Aragorn fell silent, Merenglas stared gravely about the circle. The Dunedain seemed troubled and guarded, doubtful of the youth but aware of the implications of his tale. If orcs were lodged in Nuruhuine, the strongest realms of Middle Earth could be invaded at any time; and the fall of even one of these kingdoms could bring about the defeat of all.

Merenglas spoke at last. "In this I see the hand of the Enemy," he said. His gaze, difficult to meet even when he was light of heart, found the eyes of all as it swept about the tent. "Yet I cannot hope that the rulers of Men or Elves will think likewise. We must not depend on their aid. The battle for Nuruhuine falls to us."

"The company of the East will go," Halbarad said with a grim smile. "We have business with these orcs that I am eager to resolve."

"I also ask leave to go," Mirlos said, "and I know I may speak for my men when I offer for this task the swords of my best warriors."

The captains of the North and the West would have offered their aid likewise, but Merenglas raised his hand for silence. "No single company shall travel to Nuruhuine," he said. "Each is sorely needed elsewhere, and it is unwise to leave any realm unguarded in these evil days.

"I shall lead the force to Nuruhuine," Merenglas continued, "and each captain shall send his most skilled and experienced warriors to follow me. Halbarad and Mirlos shall come, but Nelran and Ladren shall continue to command their own companies. We do not know when or where our enemy will strike, but we can be sure that they will. Therefore we have need of haste. We must leave as soon as our men can be armed and provisioned."

"My lord," Halbarad cut in, "we do not know the way to Nuruhuine, nor the location of these secret entrances."

"My second will guide us," said Merenglas. Aragorn saw his own puzzlement mirrored in the faces of the council.

"Your second, my lord?" Mirlos questioned carefully.

"Aragorn," Merenglas answered calmly. Said Ranger felt his heart leap to his throat, then drop dismally into his stomach.

The small warrior glanced his way and smiled. "Son of Arathorn, Heir of Isildur."

*

A/N: And so, it begins. The next chapter will see the Dunedain off to hunt some orc - a little less conversation, a little more action, yes? - and drop in again on Elladan, Elrohir and the royal family in Mirkwood. However! I'm heading out for the Taekwon-Do National Championships _very early_ tomorrow morning, and I will not be back until Tuesday. Ergo - that is the earliest possible day that I can post the third chapter. _Sic probo._ QED.


	3. Dissension in the Ranks

The mountains of Mirkwood were swathed in a tangled weave of green and brown, a chaotic snarl of vines and branches so dense and bewildering that a stranger stumbling into it would likely never escape. Yet to those who had run beneath the leaves of the woodland for two thousand years, the forest was a playground.

Legolas ran swiftly along the slender branch of an elm, feeling the tree shift and strengthen under his feet to allow him safe passage through the canopy. He dropped to the stronger boughs below and leapt from there into an oak, making his way ever downward as the forest thinned and light peered through the leaves.

As Legolas fell easily to the ground, he heard raucous laughter from ahead and the delighted shout of an elf-child. He felt his heart grow lighter and he quickened his pace, eager to see the fun - the halls of Thranduil had lost their mirth of late, and children seemed ever rarer as the Elves sensed their twilight drawing near.

"Ai! Unfair!" As Legolas emerged into the bright sun of the camp, he saw a tiny elf-child struggling in the grip of a tall warrior as another elf feigned an attack, tickling the little one and tousling her hair as she squirmed and shrieked.

"You shall release my subject at once, Ambassadors of Imladris!" Legolas called sternly.

The two warriors turned as one, raising identical eyebrows in an eerily accurate imitation of their father.

"The lady was the aggressor, my lord!" protested one - Legolas could not tell which - as the child giggled in his arms. "She sprang upon us in fierce assault at the very moment we entered the camp, unprovoked, and we had no warning - we were forced to defend ourselves!"

"Is this true?" Legolas asked, fixing the child with a steely glare. "Lady Miriel, did you attack the two finest warriors of the Noldor?"

The elf-child giggled madly and nodded, cheeks flushed and eyes bright as she struggled in the strong grasp.

Legolas glared at Miriel as though extremely displeased. "Then why did you not win?"

"I slaughtered them, Leg'las!" she protested. She made one more attempt to squirm free, and added with a pout, "Then they cheated."

The warrior - Elrohir? - set Miriel down and came forward to meet Legolas, grinning widely. "It has been too long," he said, clasping his forearms tightly. "The little one is at least a head taller than when we last traveled through your realm."

"Aye, and it is good to see growth in the midst of our decline," Elladan added, sending Miriel on her way with a last cuff on her ear. "Remove yourself, _muindor-nin_, I must greet our sweet prince in turn."

"Prince indeed," Legolas said derisively. "I would thank you to remember that title before you sneak another spider's nest into my quiver, if that is again your purpose in Mirkwood."

"Nay, my lord," Elladan answered. "We have not traveled all the way from Imladris merely to witness you trying to shoot with a tarantula in your hair -" "- Although we did enjoy that," Elrohir added - "Our message concerns a matter more serious."

"The shadow spreads, the forest darkens, trees die, our people grow weak, and those who venture to the south are never again seen by living elf," said a bitter voice from behind. "Is this the subject of your errand?"

A tall, pale elf stood there, his black hair bound in the braids of a ranking Mirkwood warrior, a silver circlet on his brow. The eldest son of Thranduil shared not his father's light build or fair complexion, but his strong features and undeniable air of power were clearly those of the king.

"Seregon!" Elladan quickly detached himself from Legolas and seized the Crown Prince in a turbulent embrace.

Legolas saw his brother stiffen uncomfortably, but only for a moment; then Seregon clapped Elladan roughly on the back and held him out at arm's length. "Unchanged," Seregon remarked with a smile, but Legolas saw no mirth in his eyes; and _unchanged_ was not what Seregon would have said if he had looked more closely at his friend.

In marked contrast to his brother, Elrohir bowed to Seregon and did not move to greet him. Elladan may not have sensed a change in the Crown Prince, but Elrohir had always been the more sensitive; Legolas could see that the younger twin had perceived something amiss since Seregon first spoke.

"My lord," Elrohir said stiffly, "we are sent from Imladris with a message for the Woodland King."

Seregon paused a moment, then forced a laugh. "Formality from a son of Elrond?" he teased. "Then the End of Days is surely near. Come, Elrohir, you must have more than that to say to your old friend!"

"Mirkwood has changed," Elrohir said hesitantly. "As have you."

"I?" asked Seregon, and his voice was strange. "Perhaps. Yet our circumstances warrant change, Imladris - you have heard that the halls of Thranduil have been moved beneath the ground, and our villages drawn ever further north. Indeed, the shadow is now so near that we dare not to venture south of this camp."

"Yet we are only at the foot of the Mountains!" Elrohir protested in astonishment. "Surely the evil has not advanced so far."

"It has, Elrohir," Legolas said quietly. "This hunting camp of Daemar is now our only settlement beyond the Forest Road."

"What of the southern villages?" demanded Elrohir. "Where have the people of the deep forest gone, now that Thranduil's protection has failed?"

Legolas dropped his eyes, and would not answer.

"Evacuated," Seregon said flatly. "Slowly at first, but then faster as we realized the extent of their peril and our weakness. The Elves of Mirkwood hide now in the labyrinths of the palace, frightened and hungry, while hunters and warriors ride out to camps such as this to find what food they can and hold the line against the enemy." 

Legolas found his voice. "Daemar is perhaps our safest settlement, for it is our best hunting ground and therefore well protected. Yet unease grows among its people - none are eager to stand against the shadow in the south."

Elrohir felt ill. He had not known that Mirkwood had grown so perilous. The orcs on the Road, and the strange fear of the scouts who had found the brothers and brought them to Daemar - he had dismissed these as aberrations. Yet now they seemed signs of a greater trouble. "These tidings are evil," he murmured. "We did not know how desperate your circumstances had become."

"Yet we offer aid," Elladan cut in. "Imladris shall send a contingent of its finest warriors, and we shall win back your homes in the south and assail the enemy, even at his strongest fortress. Lord Elrond will not suffer the Woodland Realm to fall."

"Fool," Seregon said calmly.

For a moment, Elladan could not speak. "My friend - I do not understand."

"You are a fool," Seregon said again. "There is still hope for Imladris, but you cannot spare a fourth part of such a contingent as could attack Dol Guldur. Mirkwood is beyond your aid."

"Yet you must accept it!" cried Elladan. "If we do not defend your realm, it will fall!"

"Our realm will fall," Seregon said. "It is inevitable."

"It is not inevitable," Legolas answered quietly. He and his brother had argued the matter for many years, but he had begun to feel his faith waning as the Elves were forced ever further to the north. Yet he would not yield. "There is still hope for the Greenwood."

"If hope lives at all, it is far from here," Seregon said. "It will not come."

Elrohir stared disbelieving at the prince. How could his friend of old change so quickly, so completely? "Seregon - this is not how I remember you."

Seregon did not seem to hear. "Thranduil will not accept your aid," he said. "Go home to Imladris, sons of Elrond. Protect it while you are able - however long that may be. Hope will not come to Mirkwood."

*

A flash of silver, then dark blood shone in the moonlight when Aragorn swept his blade across the throat of the wolf. The beast stumbled back with a choking gurgle of pain and fear, then staggered and fell, its life ebbing away as its comrade leapt over its body and sank its teeth into Aragorn's boot.

The snarling wolf shook its massive head, throwing Aragorn to the ground as easily as if he weighed nothing at all, and Aragorn saw stars explode before his eyes as he struck his head hard on a rock. He realized dimly that his sword had fallen from his hand and pulled unthinking an arrow from his quiver; when the wolf let go his boot and leapt onto his chest to seize his throat, he plunged the arrow into its blazing eye. The wolf fell away with an unearthly scream and then collapsed, its head cleaved from its body by Mirlos' curved scimitar.

The southern captain seized Aragorn's hand and yanked him up, but the earth spun under his feet and Aragorn stumbled unsteadily.

"Are you injured?" Mirlos shouted over the howls and cries of battle, his brown face streaming with sweat and grime.

"I can fight!" Aragorn yelled back, pulling his bow from his shoulder to fire an arrow into the chest of a wolf approaching a wounded Ranger from behind.

The company had journeyed unchallenged for two days and a night before the wolves had come upon them. Mirlos had heard the beasts in time to wake the Dunedain from their slumber, but the attack had come too swiftly to form an effective defense; now the camp was in chaos, the Rangers scattered and trapped in desperate combat against the pack, which never seemed to shrink no matter how many they slaughtered.

In the heart of the battle near the fire, Aragorn plunged his recovered blade into an open red maw, blood streaming across his hands; then a blur of black fur leapt for his face, and he whirled reflexively out of its path, a tail slapping his face as the wolf shot by. The beast twisted in the air landed hard to face him again, gathering its legs underneath it for another spring; it leapt, and Aragorn crouched low to drive the blade through its belly.

In the light cast by the blazing fire, Aragorn caught sight of Halbarad, fighting barehanded; the warrior seized a wolf's head with both hands and twisted with a sickeningly loud snap, and heaved its body away to meet another with a kick that sent it sprawling. Yet the wolves pressed him mercilessly back toward the fire, knowing with predatory intelligence that a human without a weapon could only last so long.

Aragorn lunged forward, driving the wolves before him; unslinging his bow from his back, he fell two in quick succession. The wolves encircling Halbarad paused in their attack to regard Aragorn with bright, calculating stares.

Aragorn seized the moment of their brief distraction. "Halbarad!"

The eastern captain glanced up to meet his gaze, teeth bared in the rage of desperate battle. Aragorn would marvel later that Halbarad had survived so long without a weapon, but for now the exhaustion and anger in his face made clear that the Ranger did not have much time. Aragorn unsheathed his blade, and hoping his aim was true, threw it over the wolves' backs to Halbarad, who caught it easily -

- and cast it into the fire.

"Halbarad!"

Aragorn stared bewildered at the Ranger. In the flickering light, Halbarad's eyes gleamed; yet the fury of battle had left him, and he looked upon Aragorn only with _contempt? Surely - he cannot hate me so much, to throw away his best chance of survival merely because it came from my hand!_

Yet Aragorn had no time to spend in thought. The wolves still pressed their attack; and as the superior skill and weaponry of the Dunedain began to turn the tide of the battle, their assault became still more savage and frenzied. Aragorn did not know how long it was before all the wolves lay dead - he had lost all sense of time, and was now simply tired. He felt that even while he hunted for lost arrows and tended the wounded with care, a part of his mind was numb, and another part still locked in desperate battle.

As Aragorn rose from setting and immobilizing a broken arm, he heard his name called over the stifled moans of the injured and the quiet talk of those well enough to help them. Merenglas stood across the camp where the fire was burning out slowly, a slender figure prone at his feet.

"Halbarad is injured," Merenglas said, "and I have neither the ability nor the time to heal him. He needs your skill, but be swift - we must leave soon."

"I will, my lord," Aragorn answered. His voice betrayed more hesitation than Aragorn cared to reveal, but if Merenglas perceived this he did not show it.

The injuries of the proud Ranger were less serious than Aragorn had anticipated. Indeed, he had feared that after fighting weaponless against a pack of wolves, Halbarad would be dead. He had been both remarkably skillful and extraordinarily lucky. However, ability and good fortune had not saved Halbarad a swollen ankle and numerous cuts and bruises, some serious, others merely painful.

When he had confirmed that the ankle was not broken, Aragorn tore a rag from an old blanket that he had been using for bandages and began to wrap it tightly. It was not broken, but in the Misty Mountains even a slight limp could turn deadly if it caught the wrong eye.

"You must heal quickly," Aragorn said to break the silence. Halbarad was watching him as a snake would watch an eagle overhead - warily, fangs exposed. He did not answer.

Aragorn finished binding the ankle and moved to secure the bandage so that it would not come loose; but a wiry brown hand of uncommon strength seized his wrist.

"Do not try to help me," Halbarad said. He released Aragorn and tore the bandage easily from his ankle. "It is not necessary."

"You need my aid!" Aragorn exclaimed in frustration as Halbarad rose with difficulty to his feet. "Or shall some undeserved malice lead you to risk your life, as you did in battle?"

Halbarad stood above him as he crouched on the ground, staring down at him with simmering anger. "I did not need your aid in battle, nor do I need you now," he said quietly. "I _never_ need you, Heir of Isildur."

*

A/N: My humblest and most groveling apologies for the late chapter. It will not happen again. Actually, it probably will happen again, often. However, the next installment will be posted quite soon - within two days.


	4. Inherit the Wind

The forest of Mirkwood was strange and shadowed, but elves who sought peace and rest could still find them in its tall elms and slender beeches. In spite of their long journey from Imladris, Elladan and Elrohir had found themselves sleepless after their confrontation with Seregon, and left the Daemar settlement in the night to seek solitude in the forest. The brothers sat now in the strong, comforting branches of an oak, high in the canopy, to watch the stars.

Elrohir recalled again the strange bitterness in Seregon's voice, his icy calm as he said _fool_. The prince was not the same elf that he had known as friend - the laughing warrior, the mischievous jester, the fierce defender of his home. Yet only a few decades had passed since they had last hunted with Seregon in the Woodland Realm. How could an immortal lose hope so quickly?

"I am almost afraid to see King Thranduil," Elladan said softly. "If he has taken the same path as the Crown Prince, I do not wish to know it."

Elrohir was startled at this confession, for Elladan seldom disclosed much of his fear or uncertainty. "I do not believe that could be," he said. "Thranduil is strong, and he has endured evil days before. Mirkwood may be in shadow, but night has not fallen on her yet. The King must see this."

"Seregon was strong as well," Elladan answered. "Yet now I seem not to know him. I wonder how long ago he lost the will to fight."

"Six years," a voice said sadly. Elladan nearly leapt out of the tree, while Elrohir started violently and looked wildly about him.

Legolas stood perfectly balanced on a branch beneath them, bow and quiver slung as always across his back.

"It is not safe to venture into the mountains alone and unarmed at night," Legolas remarked. "I thought you might need my protection."

Elrohir stared down at him with his long-practiced Elrond Glare™ and Legolas shifted uncomfortably on his branch. "I could not sleep either," he mumbled. 

"Come up, then," Elladan sighed. "Although I should be angry that you followed us uninvited. Your father would say that eavesdropping is unfit for an elf of your lineage."

Legolas laughed. "And what would _your_ father say if he knew that you were tracked unawares by a mere Moriquendi?"

"Impudent Sylvan elf," grumbled Elladan. Legolas smiled brilliantly.

"Six years, Legolas?" Elrohir asked.

The archer was instantly serious. "Aye, six. You recall that when evil returned to our home after the Last Alliance, my brother was unusually savage in battle and ruthless in his defense of the realm. I do not doubt that you remember his determination to restore Greenwood the Great."

"Seregon was fey indeed," Elrohir said quietly. "I have never seen a warrior more resolute in the protection of his kingdom."

"After the White Council drove the Necromancer from Dol Guldur in 2941, Seregon believed that we had won the victory. Yet six years ago the shadow returned, stronger than before. Seregon would not accept this. He denied the harsh truth until the capture of our southernmost settlements, when it became unquestionable that the power of Dol Guldur had been restored. Then he was broken."

"Broken?" Elladan echoed.

"It was my word," Legolas said, "for that is how it seemed to me. In the moment that he saw Dol Guldur rise again, my brother lost his will to fight."

"Yet does he not command the army?" demanded Elladan. "If Mirkwood is led by a prince who will not defend her, she shall inevitably fall!"

"It is the duty of the Crown Prince to serve the King as captain," Legolas answered. "Seregon must move against our enemy when my father commands, but he has never again fought with the ardor that drove the Necromancer from Dol Guldur. He has lost all hope of victory, and seeks only death." Legolas sighed. "I fear he shall someday cast his weapon aside in battle and stand unarmed to hasten his passing."

"Then the King must accept our aid," Elladan said urgently. "If the forces of Mirkwood cannot hold on to hope, Imladris will send those that can. My father shall marshal a contingent under Glorfindel at the moment Thranduil gives his accord. Legolas, you must persuade him to consent."

"Elladan-" Elrohir said softly.

"I shall sway him," Legolas said. "Fear me not - I will find a way."

The confidence of the young prince did not deceive Elrohir. The Woodland King was legend among Elves for his relentless force of will. It was said that none but Queen Elenwen, who had passed to the Undying Lands, had ever moved him from his resolved course. If Seregon had desired the aid of Imladris, Elrohir would have held more hope of success, for the will of the Crown Prince nearly matched that of his father - even broken and despairing, Seregon still gave forth an overwhelming sense of power and strength. Yet Legolas lacked this forcefulness. Elrohir feared that the proud independence of the King would not be quelled by his influence alone.

"Voice your doubt, Elrohir," Legolas said, watching him closely, "for while I see it in your face, I cannot answer it unless you give it speech."

"I fear that your influence may not move the King without the aid of your brother," Elrohir admitted, "and in this matter Seregon will not give his accord. He may even stand against us."

"He would not go so far," objected Elladan. "Seregon is not so changed as that - he may deny that Imladris can bring hope to Mirkwood, but he will not oppose friends of old. He has not turned traitor."

"I do not believe Seregon would speak openly against you," Legolas said, "although not out of some old loyalty. It is simply that he no longer interests himself in the concerns of Mirkwood unless my father gives his firm command. Seregon is no longer concerned with the fate of the realm, for he is sure that it is lost."

"If we are cautious in the manner of our offer," Elladan said slowly, "and we have your voice, Legolas Thranduil may yet be persuaded."

"Let us hope that we meet with no contention," Elrohir said, and his fair face was grim. "It is not in the nature of the King to welcome aid from the Noldor. If the counsel of another is against us, Thranduil may give it greater consequence, for it shall accord with his own mind."

*

Aragorn unwound the makeshift bandage with care and peered through the torn sleeve to the jagged laceration beneath.

"The blood has slowed," he murmured, almost to himself, "but the wound must not be pulled open again. You must not use this arm until the skin is strong enough to hold."

Mirlos answered that with a lopsided smile, exhaustion in his eyes as he sat propped up against an elm. "I fear I may not be able to take your advice, son of Arathorn. I would rest my sword-arm if I could, but the orcs of Mordor are well acquainted with it, and I must not deny them their old friend."

"If our strategy holds true, we shall not meet the orcs of Mordor," Aragorn replied, "and of that I am glad, for the battle would go ill for us."

"Two thousand orcs hide at Nuruhuine," Mirlos said pensively, "and twenty men have set to destroy them all. Indeed, if our tactics fail and we must meet them in combat, the odds will not favor the Dunedain."

Aragorn had never met such a master of the understatement as Mirlos. Merenglas had discovered in the morning that the southern captain had concealed for three days a wound suffered in their battle against the wolves - Mirlos had insisted that it was 'only a scrape,' yet Aragorn had had to use nine stitches to sew the split skin back together.

Aragorn drew his spare water skin from his pack and moved to clean the wound, yet Mirlos pulled away.

"I need it not," he said good-naturedly. "No, have done. Take some food for yourself at the campfire. You must be hungry, we have been walking since dawn."

"Elfling," a sharp voice said. Merenglas stood before them, glaring down at the two Dunedain who quickly rose to their feet. "Did I hear the Captain of the South refuse to let you tend his injury?"

Aragorn tried to hide a smile. "Yes, my lord."

The chieftain beckoned to Mirlos, who glanced at Aragorn with a sheepish grin and stepped forward. Merenglas cuffed him abruptly on the back of the head and motioned him to sit down again. "Obey the healer," he growled, and stalked away.

Mirlos leaned back against the elm with a rueful laugh. "Promise me, Aragorn," he said, "do not smack your underlings, when you become Chieftain of the Dunedain. It is most embarrassing - which, I am certain, is why he does it."

There was no answer. "Aragorn?"

The Dunadan was visibly shaken. "I had not yet thought of that," he murmured. "I knew that it would come someday - yet not so soon "

It was a moment before Mirlos knew of what he spoke. "You had forgotten the duty of a second," he said with a nod. "To someday take the place of his leader."

"I had forgotten," Aragorn said quietly.

Mirlos watched him for a moment. A strong youth, no doubt of that - but not fully come to manhood, and possessed of a power that Aragorn did not yet perceive or comprehend. Mirlos could see just enough of his strength to imagine how much was still concealed, and understood why Merenglas had chosen Aragorn to lead the company if he should fall.

"The thought of command troubles you," Mirlos observed.

"I have little experience," Aragorn said. "I am still very young. And - I fear - I may not have the full support of the company."

Mirlos sighed heavily. "You speak of Halbarad. I had hoped he would forget his malice toward you when our journey began. Yet he has plainly distrusted you since the council."

"He cast aside my blade to fight wolves barehanded," Aragorn said. "He forsook his best chance at life only because it was I that offered it."

"Halbarad has loyalty and affection enough when among friends," Mirlos said. "Yet he is proud, and ambitious. You must know, son of Arathorn, that the Dunedain believed you dead since the fall of your father. Merenglas was aware that you were hidden in Rivendell, but he did not reveal it. The Dunedain thought that he would choose one of we four captains as his second as he grew older, for we believed the line of Isildur, from which had come our chieftains of old, had failed."

"I am sorry," Aragorn murmured. "I did not want-"

"Nay, Aragorn," said Mirlos. "I am a good captain, but I know that I can be no more. It was Halbarad who would have been chosen had you not lived.

"He may seem reckless and unseasoned," Mirlos went on, "but Halbarad is a brilliant commander. He has traveled with the Dunedain all his life, hunting the creatures of Mordor since he could lift blade. As his genius and skill in battle grew, he came to believe that he was meant to restore the Men of the West to their former strength and deliver Middle Earth from the forces of Sauron. Many are the Dunedain who believe he could do this."

"Yet since I am not dead "

" that destiny falls to you, not to Halbarad."

Aragorn gazed across the camp. The sun set, brilliantly red and orange in the West, while the dark blue cloak of night rose above the eastern horizon. The Dunedain made ready for another night at the foot of the Misty Mountains, and bulbous eyes began to shine from the undergrowth. Yet Aragorn saw none of this.

"He must think me unworthy," he said. "Halbarad has fought the forces of Mordor all his life, wandering with the Dunedain in the Wild, while I spent my youth in the safety and beauty of Rivendell. I have neither done great deeds nor been put to great trials. I have not earned what I take from him."

"It never was his," Mirlos answered. "I see your mind, Aragorn, and I would not have you wish to abandon your birthright because it may seem more fitting for another. The blood of the West is also strong in my veins, and though I have not the gift of the Elves, I say to you: if you try to escape your destiny, you will fail. Whether you seek it or not, fate shall find you, Heir of Isildur."

*

A/N: I promised two days. It's been four. What's a factor of two between friends? In any case, a disclaimer is in order. (_ahem_) The chapter title is taken from the biblical verse "and he who troubles his own house shall inherit the wind." _Inherit the Wind_ is also the title of a very good play, but I assure you (and not in a next-update-in-two-days way), this story has nothing to do with the Great Monkey Trial. Although I suppose creative interpretation could twist it into some kind of parallel.

I also thought (and yes, it hurt) that you might be interested in the meanings of original character names. _Et voila!_

****

Merenglas - derived from either the Sindarin or Quenya for 'joyful.' Chosen because of the RL inspiration for his character, whose name means the same, and because of the profound happiness that both Merenglas and said inspiration derive from teasing - and bitch-slapping - their subordinates.

****

Seregon - literally 'blood (of) stone.' Also the name of a flower mentioned in the _Silmarillion_. It seemed to suit his cheerful personality.

****

Mirlos - 'snow jewel.' Absolutely no significance at all. I pieced two Elvish name elements together, thought "Hey! I like that name. I could use a character called Mirlos," and stuck him into the story.

Does anyone know what 'Halbarad' means? It's been bothering me (really. Sad, yes?).


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